


Invocation

by helahound



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Blood, Gods, M/M, Magic, Monsters, Outdoor Sex, Rough Sex, Sacrifice, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helahound/pseuds/helahound
Summary: The footsteps grow closer. A rough clawed hand traces the wound on his cheek. The earthy scent of the undergrowth is overwhelming; moss, pine, fresh soil, decaying things.He’s going to die here.Keith is sacrificed to the forest, but there's more than one way to worship a god.





	Invocation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a secret santa gift for someone in the Dark Sheith discord server.
> 
> Merry Christmas~!

Keith struggles as they drag him towards the forest, feet scrabbling across the ground and hands twisting at his bindings but there’s no escaping the cold grasp of iron.

His ribs ache, bruised from the beating he took when they dragged him from his burning home, the smell of smoke still clings to his clothes. He should have left long before this, before fear consumed all the fools in the village and convinced them a sacrifice would solve all their problems.

They come to the stones that sit on the edge of the forest, a warning, _do not wander here_.

A few of the villagers pause at the sight, unwilling to enter.

“This won’t fix anything,” Keith snarls at them. They’re like children, playing pretend with magic and believing it works. Forgiveness isn’t as easy as spilling blood in the dirt.

The priest, the man at the head of the mob, refuses to look at him, motioning the group forward. The air changes as soon as they cross the stones, dark and foreboding, the sounds of the village disappear. It feels like the jaws of a trap swinging shut, final and absolute.

At the end of the path lies a clearing, a tree sitting in its center, twisted and gnarled, runes carved into the wood and talismans hanging from it’s branches. The altar.

The villagers don’t dare go any further.

Keith is pulled towards the tree; he twists, kicking out at his captors. A hand reaches towards him and he sinks his teeth into it and tastes blood. He’s not going to give up without a fight. A fist slams into the side of his head and pain bursts through him, his ears ringing. Keith blinks, his vision blurring as he struggles not to lose consciousness.

The chains around his wrists loosen before pulling tighter, and Keith’s back hits something hard. The tree, they’ve brought him to the tree. He takes a step forward but stumbles as the chains snap taut, metal biting into his skin. He tugs at the restraints but they refuse to give, the old tree holding firm. He’s trapped.

Silence blankets the forest like a death shroud.

The priest emerges from the crowd, wiping the sweat from his brow, eyes darting nervously around the trees. He doesn’t look at Keith as he steps forward, knife in hand.

“W-we offer this humble sacrifice to the forest, in the hope that it may be appeased.” The priest’s voice trembles. Coward.

Keith flinches as the priest’s blade cuts a line across his cheek. The wound stings, blood drips down his neck—hot like a brand against his skin in the cool air—and stains the collar of his shirt.

A sudden gust of wind blows through the clearing, the trees groan and creak with the force of it. Somewhere beyond the treeline a branch breaks with a sharp snap that echoes through the forest. Some of the villagers startle at the noise, and one by one they begin to flee, rushing down the path and back towards the village. The priest glances at Keith one last time before following, tripping over his robes in his haste.

The silence settles again, thick and cloying.

Keith scans the trees and pulls on the chains again, rubbing his wrists raw, but they don’t budge. He’s stuck here, at the mercy of the forest and anything that can smell the copper scent of blood.

The minutes drag by slowly, the sun will set soon.

The shadows grow, long and twisting. There’s a sense of anticipation layered in the air, and Keith can feel the dread like a bottomless pit in his stomach. The forest is waiting, and watching, and soon it will have him.

A crow alights on the branch above him with a flutter of wings, tilting its head before letting out an echoing caw, beady black eyes staring at him.

Keith scowls, rattling the chains, “Fuck off! I’m not dead yet.”

The bird pays him no mind, hopping across the branch until another gust of wind rushes through the forest and it takes to the air.

The wind stops as suddenly as it started, sounds fading away until all Keith can hear is his own ragged breathing. Everything stills. Something settles over the forest, tense, like a storm about to break.

Something scratches his wrists. Keith looks down as the chains begin to rust and crumble, breaking apart. They fall to the ground with a dull thunk, and he watches as moss curls over the rusted metal, hiding it from sight. He takes a tentative step away from the tree. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, and with unwavering certainty, he knows he’s no longer alone.

Keith’s heart beats rabbit-fast in his chest as he slowly turns. The clearing is empty, but something moves in the shadows of the trees. Something big. Leaves rustle and branches creak and sway.

A giant hand covered in thick mossy bark reaches out and grips a tree trunk, its clawed fingers gouging into the wood.

The figure emerges from the trees. Keith’s breath hitches. The god of the forest.

His form towers in the clearing, otherworldly and beautiful, and Keith can’t tear his gaze away. What he had mistaken at first for branches moving in the foliage are actually antlers, tall and bone white, moss hanging from the sharp, twisted points.

The time to run has long since passed, and Keith can’t bring himself to move if he tried. There’s no point in trying, he’d never be able to outrun the god in his own domain. But maybe there’s another way out.

The god walks towards him with careful steps, flowers springing to life in his wake. Keith knows this god’s name, but his mind feels heavy, like he’s been smothered in fog and the knowledge slips through his fingers like sand. If only he could remember, he needs to remember or this is never going to work.

But gods aren’t meant to be seen, they aren’t meant to be known. He watches, transfixed, as the god’s image shifts and distorts, folding in on itself. It makes his head ache and Keith closes his eyes, dizzy, unable to process what’s in front of him.

The footsteps grow closer. A rough clawed hand traces the wound on his cheek. The earthy scent of the undergrowth is overwhelming; moss, pine, fresh soil, decaying things.

He’s going to die here.

_There’s more than one way to worship a god._

The thought comes unbidden and Keith can’t tell if it’s entirely his but the fog in his mind finally clears. He remembers.

Keith opens his eyes.

“Shiro,” he says the name like a benediction.

The god, Shiro, pauses, claws resting on Keith’s throat. It doesn’t hurt to look at him anymore, he’s beautiful, more beautiful than anything Keith has ever seen before. The scar etched across the bridge of his nose glints silver in the fading light.

“You know me.” Shiro’s voice is like wind rushing through treetops, wild and powerful. A claw thoughtfully traces a vein on his neck, one quick slice and Keith could be bleeding life blood into the dirt.

“My mother taught me the stories that her grandmother taught her. I remember the old gods.” It’s not a true lie, but the stories are old and murky with the passing of time. He hasn’t heard them since he was a child, but fragmented knowledge is better than nothing at all.

“Clever. There’s power in a name,” Shiro leans in, antlers casting shadows over Keith’s face, and breathes in his scent. “But you would know all about that wouldn’t you, little witch? Tell me why I shouldn’t spill your blood here and let your magic feed the forest.”

Keith’s neck stings as the claws pierce his skin, edging ever closer to ending him.

“Because I’m not a willing sacrifice.”

It’s a shot in the dark, more hope than certainty; there’s nothing stopping Shiro from killing him anyway. But Keith remembers the old ways when everyone else seems to have forgotten. A true sacrifice must be made willingly, it cannot be taken by force.

Shiro tilts his head, considering. “You aren’t,” he concedes. “It has been a long time since someone came here willingly, the villagers do not care for the forest like they used to.”

There is a profound sadness in Shiro’s words, and Keith feels it echo in his bones. Forgetting, fading into obscurity, is perhaps the worst way for something to die.

Then Shiro blinks, liquid amber eyes snapping into focus and the moment breaks.

“What would you offer me in exchange for your life, witch?” Shiro asks.

“Myself,” Keith says, voice steady. “My loyalty to you, as your emissary.” Keith takes a deep breath and continues, “People forget that the forest should be respected, and you can’t cross the border to remind them. But I can.”

“An interesting offer. You would become mine, give yourself in service to me?”

“Yes,” Keith says.

“Alright,” Shiro says, “but I would have your name in return.”

Keith swallows, his name is the most dangerous thing he could give. But he doesn’t have anything else.

“Keith.”

“Keith,” Shiro repeats his name softly. “I accept your terms.”

The forest goes silent. Keith feels something snap and shift and make a new home inside him, the contract seeps into his blood and carves itself onto his bones.

All that’s left to do is seal it—and there’s only one way to seal a contract with a god.

Shiro presses closer and Keith’s back hits the unyielding wood of the altar tree. This close, it’s hard to ignore just how big—and completely bare—Shiro is. Keith swallows hard.

It’s cataclysmic when Shiro kisses him, like a storm raging, like the earth opening up to swallow him whole. The power sings through him, setting his nerves alight.

Shiro tastes like honeysuckle and Keith finds himself chasing his lips, intoxicated. Shiro pulls away to lick a hot stripe over his bloody cheek and Keith inhales sharply as the wound heals, itching and knitting together.  

Shiro stares at him, eyes glowing. Keith shivers as he trails those claws down his neck and hooks them into his tunic, the fabric tearing easily under the force.

He stands bare before the god. Red streaks through the dusk sky, painting Keith’s skin like cherry wine.

The sun finally sinks below the trees and the moment shatters.

Shiro grabs his thighs, hoisting him up and slamming him against the tree. Keith gasps, back arching, and wraps his legs around Shiro’s hips. He gets his hand around the base of an antler to drag Shiro in for another honey sweet kiss.

Something big and hard and wet slides against Keith’s ass. Keith glances down and moans, Shiro’s cock is glistening, and Keith wants to get on his knees and see if it tastes as good as his mouth but—

Shiro’s grip on his thigh tightens and then the thick head of his cock catches. Keith’s hands scrabble across Shiro’s shoulders frantically as he breathes in and tries to relax. It still doesn’t prepare him when Shiro finally pushes into him in one long, smooth thrust.

Keith screams.

He’s so full he can’t think, and he thinks maybe he’s going to die here after all, split open on a god’s cock.

Shiro pulls out and slams back in. Keith chokes and bites his lip until it bleeds, he’s dizzy and hot and the rough bark of the altar scrapes against his back as Shiro sets a brutal pace.

Slowly the heat spreads through him, sinking into his blood, into his bones, eclipsing the pain. Keith _wants_. He wants Shiro to take him apart, remake him.

“Please, please…” Keith moans as Shiro fucks into him. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, just that he _needs_.

Shiro lifts him then and Keith closes his eyes and holds on tight, head spinning, until he feels his back hit the soft mossy ground.

Shiro is still inside him, still fucking him and it makes Keith gasp and whine and plead because the angle has changed now and he’s so deep. Keith sees stars flash and burst with every drag of that cock inside him, and his own cock is so hard it aches, leaking over his stomach.

Keith brushes a hand over his belly and he can feel it, he can feel Shiro’s cock moving inside him, the sheer size of it making his belly bulge with every thrust.

And it’s only getting bigger.

Keith blinks, but he’s not imagining it. Shiro is form is growing, becoming more primal and Keith can feel his cock shifting inside too, stretching him even more.

Shiro can fit Keith’s entire thigh in his hand now, and he folds him in half like he’s a doll. Keith can do nothing but sink his fingers into the mossy ground as Shiro thrusts into him, again and again. Keith can feel his orgasm building, the thick cock inside him stoking the fire hotter and hotter. He’s so full, Shiro is inside every part of him.

“Shiro,” Keith gasps his name like a benediction.

Shiro comes and Keith shakes apart with him. The world goes white hot and explodes into colour. He can feel everything. The forest breathes and sighs around him, inside him, and he can feel all the threads of life tangled together in its roots, every tree and bird and seed buried in the earth. Power—Shiro’s power—sweeps through him like a wildfire, leaving nothing untouched.

Keith burns with it and then finally, blessedly, falls into oblivion.

 

* * *

 

Keith wakes to stars above him. Just the barest hint of light dusting the sky to signal the approaching dawn. His body aches and come is drying tacky on his thighs.

He’s alone.

No, Keith clutches at his chest, feeling the thrum of magic under his skin, in his bones. He’s not alone. He can feel Shiro even now.

Keith gingerly gets to his feet, and finds that, surprisingly, he doesn’t hurt as much as he expected to. He wanders to where the remains of his clothes lie in a haphazard pile, the shirt is ruined but thankfully his pants are still intact.

A crow, the same one from before Keith suspects, silently watches him from the altar tree as he turns to leave. Keith can feel it, its essence, feather light in the back of his mind. He smiles.

It’s a short, quiet journey back down the path, and soon he stands before the boundary stones again. Beyond that, the village. All he needs to do is step over and he’s free.

“Will you come back?”

The words are whispered softly, with just a tinge of uncertainty and the emotion hits Keith all at once, Shiro is lonely. Keith can feel the ache of it in his bones. A lonely god trapped in his forest.

Keith can walk past the stones and Shiro wouldn’t be able to follow. Once Keith crosses, Shiro won’t be able to compel him to return. But Shiro is a part of him now, woven into his soul. Keith doesn’t think he could ever forget that if he tried.

He can leave, but there’s no reason he can’t come back.

“Yes,” he smiles. “Always.”

Keith steps across the stones and thinks of the villagers and their chains, of the priest with his knife, of smoke and ash and bright hot flames.

He has work to do.


End file.
